Broken
by rawpotato
Summary: A song fic. Sort of. Broken by Lifehouse. Hotch centric. Add a little Prentiss and we've got a story. Not a romance though. Which is different for me. This whole story is different. Messed up is what it is. Now you wanna read it right?


_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Criminal Minds. How many times do I have to saw that before I'm lying? I have no idea._

_**AN: **A few things first folks. Double posting today? What? Totally. Sorry.  
Another post '100' fic you say? Well I agree with you, these things just need to stop. It's over, it's the past. It's time to move on. Except, I've watch the episode six times now, and still I cry. Yeah, I'll admit it. But every time I just get this idea that won't leave. I have to share.  
This goes to the song 'Broken' by Lifehouse. Which I also do not own. It's cool though. If you haven't heard the song Youtube it. (For the true CM fans, it's the song at the end of Se3Ep2 "In Name and Blood.)

* * *

Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time  
And I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts  
I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out  
The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight_

Life was rarely, if ever, uncomplicated. How more sure of a fact Aaron Hotchner had never been. Life was, if he were honest, suddenly more complicated than he could ever remember it being. He'd had a simple childhood, or at least it had been to him then. His father was abusive, both physically and mentally, but it had been all he knew at the time, so life then hadn't been complicated. Then he was a teenager, his father was dead, he was in love and he was in high school. Life, by definition, had been complicated.

The longer he could go on the longer his life list would be.

But now, he wasn't unsure life was even worth it.

He wasn't even sure it ever had been worth it.

This, he knew, of course was just his bottled emotions talking, and the thoughts would eventually pass. They had been floating around his mind for some time, and always they left him. He didn't know where they went, and he didn't care, the thoughts themselves weren't worth the time he had to spend thinking them.

Sleep, too, was a rare occurrence for him lately. He hadn't been the best sleeper in the first place, some part of his mind always waiting for the ring of his phone for somebody else's tragedy. Since the tragedy had landed on his doorstep, the phone was the least of his worries.

Jack was down the hall now, his small body asleep, his mind, hopefully at peace, in this late hour. Three am was becoming a time for Aaron to contemplate life. His mind knew that three am was the time for him to sleep, but here he stood in front of his mirror, contemplating life.

In the back of his mind he realised that he was slowly going crazy. And he found that he didn't really mind.

Taking a good look at himself, he sucked in a deep breath, turning his torso this way and that, looking at his scarred body. He didn't normally look in a mirror, just a glance to ensure his hair was neat, and his face properly shaved, but other than that, he could sometimes forget what he looked like.

His three am life sessions usually ended with him in front of the full length mirror in his room. Clad only in pants, or whatever form of nightwear he happened to have worn when he laid on his bed praying for sleep to take him.

The scars on his chest and stomach, though healed, very clearly resembled the scars in his mind. Oddly enough they had been created by the same man, George Foyet. Sometimes, if he twisted just right, and sort of squinted his eyes just so, his scars spelt the name of his greatest foe. Aaron thought it fitting that his body and mind had created a tomb in which the man who had ruined him would live forever.

Before he placed his old worn t-shirt over himself, he trailed each of his nine scars with his finger tips, the rough, red skin searing his mind with memories of the pain that he felt with each thrust of the knife.

God he was masochistic.

Climbing back into his bed he turned off the bedside lamp that had illuminated his reprieve, and shrouded himself in darkness. Fitting. He was saying that a lot.

Which was saying a lot.

No person had ever experienced true darkness, and for that he was thankful. He was sure that he was blinded by his rage and grief, and of course guilt, but five months later he'd had enough guilt to last a life time. Though knowing that he'd had enough of it, and actually doing something about it were two very different things.

So, instead of doing anything about it, he laid in his bed covered and warmed by a smothering blanket of grief, guilt and rage, silently waiting for the sun to rise.

_I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing  
__With a broken heart that's still beating  
__In the pain there is healing  
__In your name I find meaning_

Jack had reluctantly let go of his neck at daycare, and Aaron had just as reluctantly let go of him. It was difficult to release him, even all this time later, and walk away. It was an odd dance that they had been doing, the urge to stay together; to not leave the others sight for fear of them too suddenly disappearing, and the desire to be free of the constant gaze.

Aaron was desperately afraid of losing Jack again. Jack was his life line. In those moments when he thought he was going crazy, Jack was the one that kept him tethered to sanity. Granted the rope was long and he drifted out sometimes, but all Jack had to do was call out 'Daddy' and he would be reeled back to sanity.

A place that he was somewhat afraid of.

Walking into the BAU he bypassed the empty desks and made his way to his office, slowly drifting away again. The feeling was the same that he'd had as he beat Foyet. Complete and udder separation from his self control. He wasn't sure if he would have stopped if Morgan hadn't pulled him off. All that was dark and secret in him had leapt out of him in that moment, and his better judgement had a hard time reigning it back in.

Morgan's arms around him helped, but it had been the words spoken into his ears that had truly stopped him. "He's dead Hotch. He's dead." He hadn't believed it, and wouldn't believe it, until Morgan had said so. It was a slow journey, spiralling in and out of control, and he was having trouble holding on. He was holding on of course, his tether to Jack always holding on.

Breathing out, breathing in, as long as he kept doing that he would be all right. In and out.

_The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head  
__I tried my best to be guarded; I'm an open book instead  
__And I still see your reflection inside of my eyes  
__That are looking for purpose, they're still looking for life_

Minutes passed in quiet work, folder after folder getting a quick read, a small re-write and his signature. One after the other a never ending parade of paperwork, that he was sure was fuelling his insanity. How he'd stayed sane before he'll never know, it would be his undoing, that much he was sure of.

Finally a knock broke him from his dull work and he looked up. Emily Prentiss stood in his doorway, a tower of strength and compassion all rolled into her five foot eight inch frame. She was a woman he wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, but knew that she had ventured down his.

"Good morning Prentiss." He greeted, his voice sounding like a drone monotone even to his own ears.

"Good morning." She, on the other hand, sounded chipper and polite, as always.

Not forgetting his manners he stood quickly and waved her in. She entered into his office, a bright smile on her face. He didn't bother to return it, it would feel hypocritical to smile when he was slowly falling apart.

"How are you today?" She now stood on the opposite side of his desk, her posture and body language radiating happiness. He was completely dumbfounded by her at the current moment, and he'd never felt confused by her before, so it was unsettling.

She'd been there for him before then. She'd helped him after he was blown up, after Haley had left him, after Foyet's initial attack, and all that time in between. His life as of late was peppered with her, and the fact that she was standing in his office wasn't really all that confusing. Her impersonation of Garcia, that was confusing.

"Better than yesterday, worse than tomorrow." This was his common response now. For everyday he moved away from that day, was a victory in his mind. "You?"

They sat at the same time, and still she smiled. Still, he didn't. Taking a quick look out his glass wall he noticed that Reid and Morgan had already come in and were already laughing. Still, he didn't smile.

Smiles were rare he noted.

"Good. Good, I'm good."

"That's good." He looked at her. Silence and her were two things that weren't really together when he was in the room. She generally controlled the conversation, tugging him along, engaging him when he'd rather not be engaged in conversation. Though he liked her company. She was strong, and willing to listen to whatever gibberish he said instead of anything real. "What can I do for you?"

Still with the smile she looked at him, and continued in her very compelling Garcia impersonation, "I just thought you might like to talk."

He raised an eyebrow at her. What in the world gave her that idea he would never know, so instead he sat still, not smiling, watching her smile. He didn't know what to say. Or what he could say.

"About what?" He asked, his eyebrow returning to its normal, level position, the scepticism of her actions still lingering in his mind.

"Anything. Everything. Nothing. How are you holding up?"

"I'm holding on."

_I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing  
__With a broken heart that's still beating  
__In the pain (In the pain) there's the healing  
__In your name (In your name) I find meaning  
__So I'm holdin' on, (I'm still holdin')  
__I'm holdin' on, (I'm still holdin')  
__I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin')  
__I'm barely holdin' on to you_

She had left his office and went to her desk, quickly joining in with Reid and Morgan's laughter. She had fit instantly with the team when she had come, and for that he was thankful. Elle's departure, though not surprising, had been very abrupt. Like always Emily appeared at the right time, and was there for the rest of the team when they needed a pillar.

So he'd went back to his files, his folders and whatever else was on his desk until JJ told him they were ready for the morning briefing. More killers, more sexual sadists, more, more, more, a never ending line of creeps. Reid's voice filling his head, "Did you know that at any given point there are over 30 active serial killers in the United States."

Coincidentally he had known that.

So he moved to the conference room, his team waiting for him. No, not his team, his family. He had ceased to think of them as just his team. They were his family. Odd as they were, they were his. He fit in just well with them. They had opened their arms for him, and for Jack, and he had used them. More than he should have, but they hadn't seemed to mind, and now they all sat around the table 'tossing the ball' as they liked to call it.

Sixteen cases they made it through without the urgency of more victims, and then had gone back to their respective areas, more paperwork to do. Seriously, paperwork would be his undoing and he was just realising it. Breathe in, breath out. It was simple.

In his office he pushed the files away from him and leaned back in his chair. The sun was shining in on him from his window on the sixth floor, and if he leaned back in his chair just right it would bathe his face in warms rays. Deciding not to care for one moment about the paperwork, he leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing the sun to warm him, and ward off the blanket of grief, guilt and rage that usually covered him when he closed his eyes.

_I'm hanging on another day  
__Just to see what you will throw my way  
__And I'm hanging on to the words you say  
__You said that I would, would be ok_

"Hotch?" He recognised that his name was being called, but he didn't want to answer it. He was having the most fantastic dream. Sandy beaches, Jack was playing nicely in the waves, the sun was... blocked by something. "Hotch wake up."

A heavy hand was on his shoulder, softly shaking him. He didn't want to open his eyes, couldn't the person just leave him alone.

"Hotch?" Realizing that he would have to open his eyes to tell the bothersome annoyance to go away he wrenched his eyes open with great difficulty. Slightly disoriented to find himself in an office instead of on a beach he shook himself a little and followed the delicate hand up and arm and to a face. Emily Prentiss. In his office again.

"Yes?" Slowly it came back to him. He'd fallen asleep in his chair, a sore neck, and stiff shoulders to show for it.

Instead of the smile that he was treated to in the morning, concern etched her face and he wasn't sure that he liked it. It made her pretty features contort unpleasantly, and he needed to erase her concern.

"You were asleep. I was just going to..." She trailed off then started again. "You were asleep?"

He knew that. She had woke him up from his dream. Nodding he stood, and let his eyes drift over her face, the concern ebbed away a little, but it still clouded her brown eyes, dimming the bright light that usually shone there.

"Is something wrong?" His mind immediately sped to Jack. No the phone would have woken him up then. A case, JJ had a case for them.

"No, it's just lunch time I was wondering if you wanted me to pick you something up." The concern had left as she said the words. He didn't know why it had, he was just glad that it had.

"Oh." Lunch, did he have breakfast? He wasn't sure. Jack had, cheerio's had ended up on his suit rather than where they belonged in Jack's mouth, but it had come with peals of laughter from his son, so it was worth changing. "Sure."

"Are you okay?" The concern was back.

"I'm holding on."

"Are you sure? I've never seen you sleep at work."

It was the moment of truth. She had told him once to call her if ever he needed to talk. Even if it was three in the morning. He had been awake at three in the morning and hadn't called. He'd thought about it, but his tether into insanity didn't come with good cell reception, so he hadn't bothered. No need to. Going crazy was kind of a solitary journey anyways.

_The broken lights on the freeway left me here alone  
__I may have lost my way now, haven't forgotten my way home_

Could he claim to be going crazy if he was holding on? He started thinking no, that pretending to go crazy just had easier explanations than anything else he could say. Because, as they well knew in the BAU, you couldn't define crazy.

"I haven't been sleeping well." There, he'd said it. Suddenly, instead of going crazy, he felt a small weight on his shoulders lift. Rolling his shoulders he tested the new weight, he found it easier to think clearly, to move his head and take a better look around.

Understanding crossed her features, replacing the concern for a brief moment. Taking a deep breath in, he offered her a small smile. It hurt, not having used the muscles in so long. Dropping the smile, he let out his breath. Breathe in, breathe out. It was simple.

"Ah." Her one syllable response was more than expected, and he found that he liked that she didn't press him for information. He preferred to bottle his emotions, than share them. It was just easier that way. She looked around his office and pointed to one of the couches that sat at the opposite end from where they stood. "You have a couch there, why not sleep there."

Always practical. If he'd intended to sleep, rather than simply avoid paperwork, he might have been just as practical, but falling asleep hadn't been planned. He and sleep didn't get along right now. Dreams were more memories he'd rather not relive, and like four percent of people studied he remembered all of his dreams vividly. He didn't need to relive the worst parts if his life a second time.

"I didn't plan on falling asleep."

"Ah." Couldn't she say something a little more productive? She was the conversational wizard in this relationship, he was just a dude turned into a frog, waiting to be kissed.

Where the hell had that thought come from? He had no idea.

"Anyways, what were you saying about lunch?"

_I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing  
__With a broken heart that's still beating  
__In the pain (In the pain) there is healing  
__In your name (In your name) I find meaning  
__So I'm holdin' on, (I'm still holdin)  
__I'm holdin' on, (I'm still holdin')  
__I'm holdin' on, (I'm still holdin')  
__I'm barely holdin' on to you_

She had gotten him lunch, even insisted on eating with him. They had sat in silence in his office, each of them silently eating, and moving from once file to another. Read, fix, sign, eat, drink, breathe. It was simple.

Eventually she had gone back to her own desk, once more quickly joining in the laughter that never seemed to stop between Reid and Morgan. Though at this point in the day, it seemed as if the whole teamed had gathered around the desks of the three agents, and were having a grand old time. He was content to sit and watch. That much laughing and smiling would hurt his face. He was having a hard time remembering to breathe, smiling was something he would have to work up to.

File after file he read, fixed and signed, and every so often he would sneak a peek into his bullpen. They were all still there, laughing and smiling, and he almost felt like smiling again. Almost, but not quite. Breathe in, breathe out. It was simple.

Once, when he wasn't looking, almost ready to smile a knock at his door took him off guard. Looking up, there she was, once more standing in his doorway. Smile, concern and understanding written on her elegant face.

"Goodnight Hotch." She lingered in the doorway after that, for what he wasn't sure, he was a profiler not a mind reader, and he offered her another small smile. It still hurt.

"Goodnight Prentiss."

_I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin')  
__I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin')  
__I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin')  
__I'm barely holdin' on to you_

Three am. Again he stood in front of the mirror, shirtless and staring at his scarred reflection. His tether hadn't needed to be used yet as Jack slumbered peacefully down the hall. Deciding to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground, where cell reception was very good, he picked up his cell and dialled her number.

"Prentiss." She sounded tired. He knew it was three am, she had probably been sleeping. Like a normal person.

"It's Hotch. Aaron." He gave her permission to use his first name. Nobody used his first name. Except Haley.

"Oh, hi. How are you?"

"I'm holding on." Breathe in, breathe out. It was simple.

* * *

_**AN2: **I didn't want to say this at the top, but I have no idea what the hell this is. I had the song, thought it fit Hotch perfectly, and just went. I didn't plan, I didn't think as I wrote. (Actually I watch Survivor: Samoa, and a few episodes of CM.) This is what came out. I honestly, I do not know what this is. So, I hope you like it.  
**AN3:** I just read a quote of Ed Bernano (CM producer) saying that Emily might be gay. I mean no offence to anyone by saything this, but that would ruin my day. Seriously. I understand if you don't want to pair Hotch and Emily together. I get that. Don't make her gay for the sake of making her gay. That's just not cool. I mean... all of my writing would just be pointless then. All of the stories I love to read... moot points. Lame._


End file.
